The Tom Cat's Collar
by bad2wolf2mcgee
Summary: Sherlock is frustrated; A case with little evidence, no cigarettes in the house and a new housemate downstairs who aggravates him to no end. John has his work cut out to keep the peace. NOT sherlock/oc, this story is my contribution to prove you can have an oc in Sherlock without anyone being out of character or the story being just... bad.
1. Chapter 1

**I've seen far too many 'Sherlock' stories where the authors put in a character who is pretty obviously just supposed to be themselves, this character then falls in love with Sherlock who suddenly realises that he's in love and becomes uncharacteristically lovely towards them. Don't get me wrong I've read some fantastic ones that I really enjoy (and would be happy to share with people if they'd like) but I really am fed up with the bad ones. I had a think about what would make a decent story and this was the list I made myself:**

_**No love interest between either Sherlock or John and my OC (especially not within the first story)**_

_**A proper case with a proper answer**_

_**A reasonably realistic OC**_

_**Keep all characters IN CHARACTER**_

**So I thought to myself, how hard can it be? This is the answer to that question. I don't know if it's good enough for its purpose , I'll let you be the judge of that. **

A Tight Spot

They stared at each other, deep and penetrating. Clear blue eyes with hawk like precision meeting soft brown orbs glazed with uncertainty. They searched for the answers they both desperately needed but none came. A loud clanging noise resounded through the cold, empty room making one of them jump, startled by the general silence, only before broken by the consistent dripping of hot water from a rusty pipe. A shaky breath past through the lips of the brown eyed woman, she pulled gently at the rope wound around her wrists and the arms of the chair she was in. Her male counterpart glanced at the movement of her hands and a small smile tugged at his lips. "That won't work." He told her, his voice low and little fragmented. Her eyes hardened and she gave another defiant tug. He seemed almost relaxed, pulled back against his own chair by the bindings on his feet, wrists, waist and neck.

"At least I'm trying." He rolled his eyes.

"Oh yes, that's the main objective here." He looked to the sides of the room scanning them carefully, "If you want to escape, escape, 'trying' is a waste of effort."

"Then think of a plan."

"I have."

"Then let me in on it." He remained silent. "You don't really have a plan do you." He glared at her.

"Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you expect something of me." She purposefully looked away from him. "There is absolutely nothing I can do for you in this situation so either stop looking at me like that or, even better, just stop looking at me."

They were silent for a few minutes until a muffled tap tapping of shoes on the concrete floor in the outside corridor interrupted the eerie quiet.

"Sherlock."

"What?" he snapped.

"Could you just, tell me you have a plan?" Her voice betrayed a hint of the panic, rising in her chest as the footsteps grew nearer.

"No." he told her quietly, more gentle than before.

"Why not?"

"Because I promised John."

The lock on the heavy metal door snapped and a stream of bright white light blinded them as they cowered from the figure in the opening.

**So, interested?**


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm really pleased with the response this story has had so far, especially the interest in the so far nameless character. So, let's go back in time a bit and see where this all started.**

**Darling: I know, right? ;)**

**Alice Scott Oneechan: Thank you! No, I am rather fond of a bit of mystery. Draws you in and allows me to change where I'm going if I want to. :) hmmm…are you, in fact, a cat?**

**Crimson TigerLily: really? I'm really glad you said that because sometimes my creative writing tutor tells me that it's too pompous for the ordinary reader. Apparently I should be dumbing myself down. To hell with that. Ahh the promise will come in several more chapters. ;)  
**

A Chance Meeting

_1 month earlier_

"There's nothing I can do about it mother, I'm sorry."

John Watson looked up from the paper he was studying as he waited in the queue at the newsagents and stared in amusement at the girl down the aisle. She was holding her phone to her face with one hand, the other was wrapped around her elbow as she cradled several birthday cards, a sandwich, a packet of crisps and a bottle of coke. He forced himself not to chuckle when she looked down at the mints on the bottom shelf and then glanced over at her phone, quickly bending down and taking it from her face and snatching up a pack of mints before pulling the phone back to her ear and humming to her mother as though she had been listening the entire time. "It's not like I could stop her. She's got a boyfriend now mum and they're pretty serious, he's a nice guy. Mother…" she sighed exasperated and got into the queue behind John, "We all knew this was going to happen. I wasn't going to live with her forever. I'm a grown woman now, I'll find a new flat. Well of course I'm not moving back home, I love London and I have my job remember. I'm not moving back to Surrey because my best friend's moved out. Oh I don't know mother, I'll get a dog."

"S'cuse me sir, you're next."

John looked up at the cashier and his eyes widened, he'd been so busy listening to the girls conversation he hadn't realised the queue had moved along. He handed over the paper and looked over to the second cashier as the mystery girl unceremoniously dumped her purchases on the desk.

"Sorry." She mumbled, blushing and taking the phone away from her ear while she was paying.

"Pushy parents?" the cashier asked, the girl shook her head.

"She just worries."

"That'll be 8.45 please, unless you're interested in any of our chocolate bars for an extra pound."

The young woman shook her head and swept the food and cards into a bulging cloth bag as John grabbed his change and headed out of the store after her.

"No mum I was in a shop, look I'll call you back later when I'm at home. No mother the flat not your place. Ok, I'll speak to you later, bye, love you, bye."

She flipped the phone shut and delved into the left hand pocket of her black coat, her hand disappeared entirely as she produced object after object. A purse, some hairclips, loose change, a single chopstick, a nail file and finally an i-pod. A familiar buzzing in John's pocket forced him to take out his phone.

_Out of milk and cigarettes._

_Please rectify._

_SH_

John looked up from the text but the woman was gone. He sighed and crossed the street to the Tesco Express on the other side, picking out just the milk, he headed to the tills and watched the rain begin to fall. Just another day in London.

**Sherlock will appear in the next chapter, have no fear.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry this is a little late, no excuses really and I'll try to keep up again :)**

**88dragon06: Thank you, I hope you continue to enjoy it.**

**Darling: you're going to get complacent if you keep being so lazy. And come one, when does the updating start, you have some avid fans waiting for you!**

A failed conversation

"Where are the cigarettes?"

Sherlock frowned as he examined the products of Johns outing.

"They were out."

"Out of cigarettes? Don't be ridiculous." The consulting detective placed his hands on his bony hips and leant against the kitchen counter watching several different sets of severed fingers in petri dishes.

"What is it today?" John asked, his eyebrow raised.

"I'm working out a timeline for the decomposition of fingerprints in water," he pointed to the first dish, "acid", then the second, "and soil."

"Of course you are."

"It's for a case."

"What case, you don't have any cases, you turned them all down."

"A future case. If I do this now I won't have to later when the need for it becomes apparent. It will save time which could be better spent hunting down a killer."

John had learned to just give in and let Sherlock do as he pleased months ago, instead he headed back through the kitchen to the living room where he immediately fell back into his chair and pulled out the paper.

"Was she attractive?"

He looked up from the paper and around to his housemate who seemed interested only in the slowly fizzing fingers.

"Who?"

"The girl from the newsagents."

"How on earth…"

Sherlock opened his mouth to explain but John interrupted, "I guess so I wasn't really paying attention, why do you want to know?"

"I was making conversation."

"Oh, well. Right then."

They lapsed into silence, John eventually turned back to his paper and Sherlock to his experiment. The girl was forgotten and the conversation along with her. That was until two weeks later.

**Next chapter will be up tonight or tomorrow morning. In the meantime reviews would be lovely.**


	4. Chapter 4

**I know I said morning. In my defense this pretty much is morning to me as I only got up two hours ago and then I had to go for a cycle and have a shower (trying to lose a bit of weight). Anyway, Happy Diamond Jubilee to those taking part in celebrations, break out the champagne! And Happy Sunday to everyone who isn't, watch a bit of Sherlock and have a nice cup of tea :) Hope you all enjoy this chapter.**

**Crimson TigerLily:**** Ah, I believe this is the chapter you're after. Her age isn't really discussed but I put her as late twenties. I realise that's a bit odd for a mother who keeps asking her to come home but I based that relationship around someone I know who has three children between late twenties/early thirty's and the eldest even has a son but when the eldest and his wife went house hunting she asked them to move back in until they found somewhere, then the second eldest and his wife were asked to move back until they found a new house and eventualy the youngest moved out to live with her boyfriend because she was fed up of living in a tiny little house with her two elder brother, their wives, her nephew and her parents. Luckily they're all moving out to new house now but her mum's still a little upset that they're all going. However I loved your deductions, you were definitely close.**

**Bronze Cat:**** Oh my YES! The ones where this mysterious sibling turns up out of the blue and causes all sort of shenanigans. Yes I'll admit those are generally annoying they're just so hard to get right because you hear the premise and just think, 'um…no'. I found a really good one once but when I went back I couldn't find it, other than that I haven't found anything of the sort that really works.  
**

**Darling: Tut tut. Alright, but you know it's harder to start again the longer you stop.**

An unexpected visit

The doorbell rang, once. Sherlock looked up from his laptop and John turned the corner of the page of his book down. He waited to see if Sherlock would get up to answer the ring but decided he should know better and heaved himself out of the chair, his knees clicked a little as he traversed the staircase and he put on a cheery smile as he opened the front door. The smile immediately turned to a frown of startled shock. "Oh! Hello."

The girl from the newsagents stood looking up at him from the doorstep. Her dark red hair had been straightened and she'd put on a touch of make-up but it was definitely her. She bit her lower lip and turned the toe of her right shoe inwards slightly, John realised he had yet to reply.

"Um, hello, were you, looking for me…us…or me."

She stared back at him obviously confused by his non-sentence but she took out the folded page of a newspaper from her pocket and showed it to him. He noted the multitude of swirling circles around advertisements of one bedroom flats.

"I was hoping to look around the room actually."

"What room?"

Her eyes immediately turned wide and she visibly stared at the number on the door, checking she had the right address.

"The advert said there was a small flat going."

He looked down at the paper more carefully and spotted the advert. So Mrs Hudson was finally renting out the vacated rooms. He stood away from the doorway and held his arm out beckoning her in.

"Of course, of course, sorry we thought you were…someone else. I'll fetch Mrs Hudson for you. I'm John, by the way, John Watson. I live upstairs."

She smiled happily and took off her coat, draping it over her arm and taking his extended hand.

"Nice to meet you John. I'm Heather, Heather Turner."

He smiled and then, after a brief moment of polite hesitation, he left her in the hallway to find Mrs Hudson.

"Good start Heather, just don't trip up. That's all you have to do, just don't trip up." She murmured to herself. The building was nice; warm, well placed for the station and the park and she wouldn't technically be alone.

"Well, are you coming up or are you going to stand there all day?" A voice from the upper floor of the house called. Heather looked around, was he talking to her, whoever he was? There was no one else around but what about John? He'd been looking for a woman, Mrs Hudson, shouldn't she wait, "I haven't got all day." The voice called again. Curiosity got the better of her and she took the wooden bannister in her hand, the grain was smooth against her chilled skin and the second-to-last step creaked beneath her foot. With a nervous twinge in her stomach, Heather pushed the door before her open and stepped through into a beautifully warm room. The first thing she noticed was the mess. The entire room was scattered with papers and printouts that had obviously been cleared in a hurry to make room for something, or someone. A dark blue dressing gown lay across the arm of a comfy looking sofa and there was a lingering smell, like chemical cleaner and burnt pork. "Sit down on the chair and start from the beginning."

Her attention was drawn to the mantelpiece which held several items of great interest to her, including, what seemed to be, a real human skull. In front of the fireplace, blocking the mid-section from view, was a man. He was tall and slim, wearing a pair of black trousers and a dark green shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His face was turned away from her so all she could make out was a sharp nose and a mop of thick dark curls. "I said sit." He reminded her. She looked down at the single wooden chair that had been placed in the middle of the room, should she take a seat? He obviously hadn't a clue who she was, he must be expecting someone else but he seemed adamant about her taking the seat.

Heather was spared an answer by John's appearance back in the hallway. He span around with a slight frown on his face before taking a look up the stairs and spying her coat on the top bannister. With a sigh he jogged up the steps and joined her in the doorway.

"Sorry Heather I think she's in the bath but I can make you some tea while you wait if you want."

The tall man by the fire spun around at the sound of John's voice and Heather finally got a look at him. He was handsome; a well-structured face and sharp jaw line, blue eyes that slightly unnerved her and a calculating look.

"Not a client." He murmured, "Oh of course, that damned advert in The Times."

He looked her up and down and turned back to the fireplace. "Still, could do worse than a librarian."

Heather looked up at him wide eyed and John shook his head, heading towards the kitchen.

"Excuse me?" she questioned, "How on earth did you…"

"Nice outfit but not overly expensive so not a high flying job but a steady one none the less. Nails are short but painted clear so no heavy rough work but not something you need to impress people with. The dry red skin in between your fingers infers latex gloves are a part of your job so scientist or museum worker. Well-spoken but not overly so, the notepad sticking out of your bag, it doesn't fit but you keep it there anyway, force of habit so English graduate then, museum worker. The pin on your top is old and worn, probably a hand-me-down or inheritance from an elder family member that points to a sentimentality and a historical interest. An English graduate with a low but steady job in a central London museum. The British Library."

She eyed him up for a moment and nodded slowly.

"Spot on." He smirked. "Only I'm actually the head of the Library's curatorial and research departments. I run the Library floors and the archives."

He frowned and she shrugged. "I don't like spending money."

John smiled and held up two mugs.

"Who's for tea?"

Sherlock glanced at him and turned his back on the company, facing the window looking out over the street. Heather kept her eyes on him as she followed John into the kitchen area. She watched in amusement as he opened the dishwasher, taking out several beakers and a boiling tube before finally getting to unpacking the mugs and glasses on the top rack.

"Does he do that to everyone he meets?" She asked quietly as she sat down at the table.

"Who Sherlock? Yes, although I think he went a bit easy on you. Normally he pulls out loads of background history and personal comments as well."

Heather leant her hand on her neck and shrugged.

"There's really not much to say. Nothing I'd care to hide anyway."

Sherlock gave a short and quite laugh from his position by the window. "What you think I'm lying?" She called over. He turned to look at her condescendingly.

"Everyone has something to hide."

She pulled a face and leant back against the chair.

"Go on then, enlighten me. What do you know about me that I would want to keep hidden?"

He stared at her for a good three minutes. John placed a cup of tea down in front of her and she sipped it, putting it straight back down again when it burnt her lips.

"You write sometimes." She smiled.

"Well that's hardly cause for a secret."

"Under the influence of alcohol." She sighed.

"It doesn't happen often but yes, when I have a few glasses of wine I like to pick up my laptop. I don't see the shame in that."

Sherlock frowned.

"You've never had a proper love interest. Only men hoping for a one night stand who you keep turning away."

She blushed a little but nodded.

"Sad but true."

"You have a collection of stuffed toys."

She shook her head.

"Actually they're rubber ducks and they make an excellent conversation starter when I want someone to go away and never talk to me again."

"People like your sister more than you."

He could tell he'd hit a nerve. Her brown eyes lowered to her lap for a moment and then she looked up at him. Her reply was quieter, more unsure.

"That's more of a matter of opinion."

"No it's not, she's prettier, she fits in better with people and she has a better job than you. People like her more and you still don't hate her for it. Why?"

Heather cleared her throat and got up from the table.

"Elizabeth is a weather girl for the BBC. I'm very fond of her and I'm happy with the career choice I made. Thank you for the tea John but I have more flats to look at. I'll call back another time."

Heather crossed the wooden flooring and exited through the door she had entered by. John looked down at the barely touched cup and sighed, glaring at his housemate.

"Really? Was that necessary? Did you ever think it might be nice for Mrs Hudson to have some female company about this place?"

Sherlock picked up his violin and swung the bow around like a sword for a moment.

"Everyone has secrets John."

"But it's not your job to hunt them out."

Sherlock huffed and fell back into his chair.

"Yes John, yes it is. I'm a consulting detective it's what I do."

"She's a young woman looking for a home."

"Yes, in my home. I want to know more about her before we consider letting her near the flat again. I can't work properly if I'm constantly looking over my shoulder for her."

"For God's sake Sherlock, she's a librarian not the Russian mob."

Sherlock gave him a pitying look and then closed his eyes, turning to his violin.

**Well go on then, have a drink, go for a walk, curse the rain that starts half way through your walk, run back home, and, of course, remember to review. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Hope you all enjoyed your weekend, I know I did. I know the timing of these chapters are a little higgledy-piggledy but I hope you're still getting time to read them before the next goes up. **

**Bronze Cat: Bonjour! Ca Va? Ah looks like we'll be rivals at some point then because I'd love that job too. The main reason I picked it is that it's something I'm happy to do a bit of research on in order to make it as realistic as possible whilst taking a little artistic licence. Ahhh, you mean my Darling Rachel down there. Yes she really is rather lovely, *to Rachel* Aren't you Doll?**

Rachy Babes: Look Darling, the nice girl above likes your name apparently. :) He wouldn't be Sherlock if he played nice would he. But never fear, Heather's not taking his nonsense, at least not without a fight.

An unwanted acquaintance

A few days later Sherlock was forced to answer the door. Mrs Hudson was out shopping and John had apparently gone out; although the location had been entirely lost on the detective. He slinked down the stairs and used one finger to push down the lock and pull the door open sharply. The bright sunlight blurred his vision a little but he recognised the woman on his doorstep now with a distinct kink to her red hair and a pair of black rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. "Can I come in?" Heather asked. He looked down at the rather short form of the woman who had so recently left his flat in a state of mild anger and gave a large fake smile.

"Sorry, I'm busy."

"You're in your pyjamas."

"I'm still busy."

"Mr Holmes, I have ten thousand books to catalogue, forty staff to moderate and a security test to perform on the internal library mainframe. I, am busy. You just can't be bothered."

"No, you're right, goodbye."

He shut the door on her and turned to go back up the stairs but he froze on the first step when he heard the sound of metal on metal. He turned to find her standing in the hallway, a key in her hand. "You've rented the flat." He complained, "I told Mrs Hudson to wait for my approval."

"Yes well luckily for me she likes me and she was frustrated with you at the time. Something about a hand in the recycling."

"It was a leg."

"Excuse me?"

"In the recycling bin, it was a leg." He studied the pure confusion on her face, "I put a human leg in her recycling bin to work out the general laceration marks a body entails while in a recycling facility."

"I thought she meant you just hadn't helped out." Heather commented, she'd gone a little pale. Sherlock turned on his heel and stomped up the stairs, unhappily he noted that Heather was following him and he watched her take a seat on the sofa.

She took a moment to compose herself and have a look around then she turned to him.

"What you said about my sister. It's true. People do tend to like her more and it does bother me but there's a big difference. Lots of people like her but they'd be willing to use her dead body as a ladder if it meant getting to the top. My friends are trust worthy. They would stand up for me no matter what and they take me exactly as I am. That's all I can really ask of them. So yes she's more popular but I have the better quality of friend and that makes me better off. So I don't envy her, I worry about her."

Sherlock closed his eyes as if getting a headache.

"Fascinating." He remarked dryly, "When you leave could you post the letter on the side there?"

"I looked you up you know."

"Did you, how interesting that must have been for you."

She studied him coolly and threw over a brown paper file. He looked at it in interest and eventually turned the pages. Heather happily noted the few and far between moments when she caught just a hint of surprise in Sherlock's eyes.

"This is very detailed."

"Even us librarians have talents. Research happens to be one of the most common skills among our kind, it's that or learning to throw your voice so you can shush people without getting glared at for it."

"I would imagine you also know the dewy decimal system off by heart."

"Bloody hell I'm single, not desperate. I have better things to do with my life than that."

"Really, like what."

"Re-runs of Dr Who on catch-up." She replied without a beat. To her surprise he smiled and held up his file.

"Do you mind if I keep this."

She shrugged and picked up her bag from the seat next to her.

"Go ahead, it's all memorised anyway." Heather got up and headed for the door.

"Miss Turner." Sherlock called from his seat, she turned to face him, "Make sure to deal with that damp before you move your belongings in downstairs."

She picked up the letter he had motioned to earlier and smiled at the veiled welcome, nodding once.

"I'll get someone in tomorrow morning."

**So she can stay, but can she handle the stress?**


	6. Chapter 6

**Time for another chapter, I just want to say that I'm really pleased with the response this story has gained and I value every review and alert that pings into my inbox. So thank you all!**

**merekat6: Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! That sounds like a pretty interesting course, what's it like? My last story was a Dr Who one and it meant a lot to me so I had to make at least one minor reference to it. Hopefully the story will keep you interested the whole way through :)  
**

**MoodySpark: Ah ha, hello you :) yes, Sherlock isn't particularly fond of having 'an intruder' around but at least he's realised he may as well concentrate on more important things.**

**Rachy Babes: Ha ha! Hello my gorgeous drunk Darling. What a review that was, I hope you remember writing it, if not you may want to re-read the last chapter as well ;) Oh…we're married now are we? I better go ring hunting then…**

A Word of Warning

"I see Heather's moved her stuff in." John commented, coming in from his shower.

"Her friends dropped it all off this afternoon. They made a lot of noise."

"Sherlock come on, she's moving in whether you like it or not, you may as well get used to it." He sniffed from his laid back position on the sofa.

"I suppose she might come in useful."

"Sherlock! She's a normal, nice, sensible girl don't drag her into all of this. It'll be Sarah all over again."

Sherlock frowned.

"What did I ever do to Sarah?"

"Well to start off with you got the pair of us kidnapped by Chinese gangsters."

"That was your fault, you said you were me. I seem to remember that it was me that got you out of that little misunderstanding."

"Just promise me something Sherlock."

The consulting detective remained silent. "Just try not to drag her into this. Don't treat her like you treat everyone else you meet. Don't lie to her, don't use her for your cases and don't leave bits of dead people in her fridge. Just, leave her the way you found her."

"At the bottom of the stairs?"

"You know what I mean Sherlock."

Sherlock brought his hands up to his face, resting his arms on his chest.

"You're starting to sound like Sargent Donavan." John frowned. "Do you think I 'ruin people's lives' John?"

"No, but I think when people get sucked into your work they sometimes get hurt." Sherlock refused to respond. "Just promise Sherlock."

"Why?"

"Because I'm asking."

"That's not a reason."

John got up and headed up towards his room. He paused in the doorway and turned to make one final comment.

"You walk around every day acting all clever, but sometimes, it's like talking to a seven year old. You need to realise that how you act affects others and sometimes that does actually matter Sherlock."

Sherlock heard his partner's feet on the stairs and opened his eyes. With quick but heavy movements he turned onto his front and looked out of the open door. Two words came into his head unexpectedly, he frowned and waved a hand as if to brush the thought out of the air. Sherlock Holmes did not make such stupid, childish promises.

**Keep those wonderful reviews coming!**


	7. Chapter 7

**This was meant to be up yesterday but my mother was complaining that I'm on the computer too much so I spent all my time off it yesterday and I'm only coming on for this today. Anyway, enjoy…**

**Sylanc:**** No you got it right, that's the promise he made. I'm really happy to know you're enjoying the story and thank you for the praise I really am grateful for it :) **

**Bronze Cat:**** Oh Heather has a very good system for keeping people out, you'll see it in this chapter in fact :) Good to know you're enjoying!  
**

**Rachy Babes:**** Ahh, so we're more engaged than married ;) It wouldn't be Sherlock without a bit of Homoerotic tension and the whole idea is to keep it as similar to the program as possible :) So I'm glad that came through!**

A Helping Hand

John rubbed his eyes as he eased himself down the stairs. It had been a long night and being woken up by the fire alarm above their microwave hadn't exactly helped matters. The post lay on the floor just inside the door and he bent down to retrieve it. A wolf whistle behind him straightened his back in a second and he spun around to see Heather leaning on the bannister. She blushed and giggled like a schoolgirl being caught staring at her crush. "Sorry, force of habit. You live with students for a certain period of time and you kind of pick up their traits."

"Is that what she was? Your old roommate?"

"She went back for one more year than me, she works for a company doing maths-y stuff now."

"Maths-y?"

Heather smiled, a little embarrassed and moved to collect her own post from his hands. He separated the letters and handed her the three with her name on them.

"I'm terrible with numbers, to be honest it takes me at least a minute of staring at a clock to work out the time. I dutifully listened to her ranting about her job and she put up with me bouncing off the walls about the hidden texts of Aesculus. It was a win win situation. Unfortunately, now," she waved two of the letters in the air, "I have to work out how to deal with bills on my own."

He watched her walk back along the corridor to her door.

"You know if you're struggling, I could always give you a hand."

Her face lit up and she nodded.

"That would be fantastic, seriously though, I'm kind of slow with numbers so you may be there a while." He shrugged.

"When's good for you?"

"Well I'm off work all week." She mentioned, "Moving in time apparently."

"Give me ten," John motioned to his baggy pyjamas, "I'll just change."

"I'll put the kettle on."

He made his way back up the stairs and pushed the door open. The living room was warm and still smelled faintly of smoke and sulphur. Sherlock sat at the living room table, his fingers drumming on his knee as he waited.

"One for you." John threw him the post, "The rest are bills."

"I need you to research someone for me."

"Fine I'll do it in the afternoon."

Sherlock looked up, startled.

"Why can't you do it now?"

John sighed and crossed the room to the laundry basket, picking up his freshly washed trousers and cream jumper.

"I'm going downstairs to help Heather with her bills."

"This is more important than that."

John rolled his eyes and headed up to the bedroom to change. When he came back down the stairs Sherlock was pacing, his long stride took him to the sofa and back to the fire place in very few steps, each one quiet and cat like. His head snapped to the side to study his flatmate and he stopped mid-flow. "This is a matter of great importance John." He argued, obviously with no concept of the argument being over.

"Yeah, you said that exact thing last time and it was just so you could work out if Mrs Hudson had changed her scone recipe. I'm going Sherlock, if you need me I'll be downstairs." He turned and left the room, letting Sherlock's distinct huff follow him as he went.

Heather had left the door open for him. John stepped inside and took a look around, there was a small sofa, covered with bedding and towels, an armchair piled high with clothing and several table with appliances scattered across them. The room was filled with cardboard boxes, varying sizes, piled almost to the ceiling in some places. John put his hand on one and peered in, books. "Heather?"

"John? That you?"

"Yeah, where are you?"

"Kitchen." She sang.

He followed the sound of her disembodied voice into the kitchen. It was pretty empty compared to the living room. A kettle had been plugged in as well as a toaster and the fridge was open so he could see that it had been well stocked. Heather removed the milk from the fridge door and motioned to the freshly made tea. "Milk?" He nodded.

"Please." She put the two cups on the kitchen table and he took a seat in front of the small pile of letters in the middle. "Ahh, have you got any account records or anything."

"Oh! Hang on a tick."

Heather disappeared into the living room and he heard a tense grunt as she dragged one of the boxes from the top layer. She reappeared in the doorway with a much smaller box, black and full of documents. "Laura did everything for me, it's all sorted into sections."

He rifled through and pulled out some bank statements.

"Right we'll start with these shall we…" He trailed off at the sound of a yelp of shock and someone falling into the boxes in the living room. Heather and John raced into the other room, both expecting a burglar or Mrs Hudson having taken a fall. They stopped at the same point, both looked down at the figure on the ground, Sherlock Holmes lay on Heather's carpet, one foot still on top of the box she had taken down off the pile, which he'd obviously tripped over, another, empty, box was grasped in his hand, the contents; a large collection of decorated rubber ducks, splayed around his head. John's eye's raised to the ceiling as a relieved and an amused smile spread across his face. Heather's shocked expression melted steadily into one of utter brilliance, she bent double with laughter and fell back against the boxes behind them, sitting on several of the plastic, yellow creatures.

Sherlock looked up from the floor and pushed himself to his feet, staggering against the only clear wall and straightening his shirt out, re-tucking it into the back of his black trousers. He coughed, coving up his embarrassment and snatched the laptop he'd been carrying from the floor where it had fallen.

"Oh my…I don't think I've laughed that hard in months." Heather stated, pulling herself up and looking down at the ducks, her hands on her hips. "Oh don't look so sour Sherlock." She chastised, sweeping them back into the box and kicking it out of the way, "At least it wasn't books, now they could have done some real damage."

He glared at her but she shrugged it off, leading the way into the kitchen and leaning against the sideboard.

"What do you want?" John asked the new visitor.

"If you insist on helping Miss Turner…"

"Heather." She corrected.

"If you insist on helping Miss Turner with her accounts," Sherlock continued as though she hadn't spoken, "then I'm bringing the laptop down here and you can do the research at the same time."

John's voice raised and his tone became exasperated.

"For the last time Sherlock, I'm not going to do your bloody research, if it's that important do it yourself."

"If I did it for you, would you stop calling me Miss Turner?" Sherlock and John looked up from their argument.

"No, no Heather, you don't have to do it for him." Sherlock interrupted his friend.

"Are you offering?"

"Only if you start calling me Heather." He narrowed his eyes, racking his brain for a catch in the bargain.

"Fine." She sighed and flicked the kettle back on.

**Hopefully you'll be back for more soon ;D**


	8. Chapter 8

**I don't think there's all that much to say to start this chapter on s instead I'll throw you straight into it :)**

**Crimson TigerLily: no worries I follow you on Tumblr so I never have to miss you for long ;) glad you like it and hope this one goes down just as well.  
**

**Rachy Babes: I'm dreading having to sort out taxes and bill on my own but my best friend promised to help so should be ok.**

Hard Research

"Anthony Coy was born on the 22nd May 1959 in Edinburgh, he was the third of seven siblings. Father, Charles was born in England, Irish descent, and mother, Mary, was Irish. Father died in 1993, in Dumfries following a battle with Alzheimer's."

Sherlock looked up from one of the books he had picked up from the living room. John put down her account documents and checked the time.

"Took you two hours to find that?"

"Oh ye of little faith." She chastised and turned back to the computer, "According to the records his godfather is a man by the name of Michael Conan and he was sent to Hodder Place School in Stonyhurst. It's an old prep school, apparently Vyvyan Holland, Oscar Wilde's son went there."

"Get on with it." Sherlock complained.

"Patience is a virtue." She gave him a sickly sweet smile, "He moved to Austria in 1975 returning in 1976 when he moved to Edinburgh to study Medicine, he left in 1981. He disappeared for a year then I relocated him in 1982 where he gained insurance for a medical practice in Plymouth, but the practice went under and he moved to Portsmouth later that year where he filed for bankruptcy." Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

"But he had off shore accounts making it easy to keep afloat but just under the radar. Urgh, clever. Why didn't I think of that before?"

There was a moment of silence before he looked back at Heather, "Well go on." He waved a hand at her. She frowned but continued.

"His hobby's at this time included playing football for a small club in Southsea and cricket up until 2007 when he broke a finger in his hand."

"How the hell do you know that?" John asked.

"I phoned his doctor."

"When?"

"While you were in the bathroom."

"Of course." He chuckled and shook his head, filing away two bills and pulling the calculator back to the edge of the desk.

"He then moved to Crowborough with his wife Jean and family from 2007 until his disappearance in July 2010. He left behind a wife and four children; Mary, Arthur, Denis and Adrian."

"Excellent, thank you."

Sherlock shut the lid on the laptop and leant back in his chair, pulling his phone from his pocket and typing into it. Heather frowned a little confused.

"I don't understand, did I just, solve a case?"

He put his phone away and jumped up, flinging the fridge door open and pulling out a tin.

"I," he emphasised, "just solved a case, you gave me the answer to the question which lead to my solving the case."

He took a slice of something from the tin and sat down again, eyeing up the accounts and taking a bite. "Hmm, pistachios, chocolate, condensed milk, cranberry and…"

"Cocoanut," she filled in, "on a shortbread base."

"It's nice."

She looked at him as though he'd grown a second head, "have you got any more tea?"

"Sure." She replied and got up to make another, possibly stronger, pot of tea.

**Mmmm, cake sounds like a good idea right now…**


	9. Chapter 9

**A very short but very important chapter.**

**Rachy Babes:**** Well I have plenty of cake but you're too far away. I do hope your head's alright this morning.**

**Crimson TigerLily:**** I like following you, a like all of my followers and read pretty much all of their posts :) **

Unwanted Problems

Greg Lestrade sat heavily in his soft leather chair, an untouched bagel on the corner of his desk and the phone blinking at him, reminding him of Catherine Summers over and over again. He grunted, frustrated with himself and picked up the offending object. "Yeah Lestrade." He answered, "You're sure? No match? Yeah, thanks."

He threw the phone back into the cradle with excessive force, rubbing his stubble and looking over at the calendar on the wall. Fifteen crosses for fifteen cases. Fifteen cases since he'd called the number; that has to be some kind of record. With a groan of self-loathing Greg picked up the phone again and dialled. "Sherlock, could you come down to the station."

The other line immediately hung up and he was left staring at the receiver in his hand. Why had he let himself in for this, again.

**Feel free to give a short review for a short chapter.**


	10. Chapter 10

**And it's time for another chapter and of course for the preliminary case report.**

**Rachy Babes: Ah, now I fancy an Indian. No Alex, you're on a diet, no take out. I always thought that, although Lestrade knows how helpful Sherlock is it was never an easy decision for him to bring in the extra help.  
**

**MoodySpark: Good to know you're enjoying it so far, and don't worry this one's a tad longer. And YES Aber looks a complete state! Looking forward to going back though after a nice long break though.**

A Displeasing Report

"Catherine Summers."

Lestrade threw the file to John who caught it and handed it to Sherlock. The detective flicked through briefly. "She went out for drinks with some friends on the first, left the party for a smoke at about a quarter past one then she disappeared; turned up four nights ago in the Thames, no money, no face, no fingerprints and no clothes." Sherlock frowned.

"So..?"

"That's it."

"What do you mean that's it?" John asked.

"Well, that's all we've been able to find out and even that's a push. We've got images of her entering the pub with a group of people who we can't identify and images of her leaving, smoking, and then wandering off. No one's talking to us and she's never been arrested so nothing about her's on file."

"You should have called me earlier." Sherlock complained.

"I didn't know who she was."

"Exactly, you had even less to go on than you do now, and what you have now isn't exactly impressive." Sherlock pulled on his gloves. "I need to see the body and the crime scene photos." Lestrade sighed.

"That's a no can do." He told them, "She was wearing an Islamic symbol, her body had to be buried straight after the autopsy on religious grounds. She's already gone Sherlock."

"How am I expected to solve a crime if I can't see the evidence?" Sherlock snapped.

"You can have photos and Molly's x-rays but other than that you'll have to work without. You still want the case?"

Sherlock handed the file to John and pulled on his gloves as he left the office. John nodded to the inspector and followed afterwards.

"First you're complaining all the cases are blindingly obvious and now you're angry because this one's difficult."

"Not difficult John, almost impossible. There's a reason murderers dispose of bodies. No body, no crime. Now I have to use evidence that's been degrading for at least a few weeks, in water, from photographs."

"It's better than nothing Sherlock."

"Nothing would be something. There are very few people who can murder a person and leave nothing behind. The list would be considerably narrowed. Catherine Summers could have gone for a drunken walk and fallen into the Thames for all this evidence shows." He sneered, waving his hand at the file and striding out of the police station door, heading for the nearest taxi.

**So, any ideas yet? ;)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Deepest apologies but I've been cataloguing our library. (we've taken on ALL the books from my grandparent's house and put them in my brother's room. add that to the hundreds of books we already have and we have a little library going)**

**Crimson TigerLily: Well no, moriarty isn't here yet but my hope is to do a sequal to this story and possibly bring Moriarty in later. :)**

**GraceSong: Thank you! I love the idea of the symbol being placed on her. I really wish I'd thought of it that's fantastic. This always happens, a reviewer always comes up with an idea I wish I'd stolen!**

**Bronze Cat: Don't worry no ideas is good because it means I haven't given it away too easily :)**

**A Speedy Surprise**

"Sherlock!" Molly started, wide eyed and flustered by the sudden appearance of the detective. She looked down at the mortician's bib she had placed over her clothing, it was splattered with blood and body fluid. "Umm." She was saved from making any excuses as Sherlock pushed past her and headed for the filing cabinet in the corner.

"I need some x-rays. Summers, Catherine." He called.

"Top draw right at the back, x-rays and photographs from the scene, I hadn't signed it off yet. How are you?"

"No coffee today thank you Molly." He took the file containing the x-rays into the next room, leaving Molly and John alone.

"Right…ok." John smiled to Molly.

"Sorry, we've got a new flatmate I think she's made him a bit irritable." Molly's face dropped.

"She?"

"Yeah, Heather Turner, she's taken the flat downstairs." He noted the jealous look on Molly's face and backtracked a little. "They don't seem to get on very well but he'll have to put up with her, Mrs Hudson likes her. In the week or so she's been around he's hardly said one word to her." Molly's face brightened.

"Really? I mean, that must be uncomfortable for you to live with." John shrugged.

"He'll get over it, as soon as he realises she's just trying to live her own life and she doesn't want to spy on us."

"Sorry Molly, John and I have to get to 'The Looking Glass'." Molly stared after Sherlock as he swept past with her file.

"Isn't that a strip club?" She gaped as the double doors swung shut.

**Short I know but the good news is that next chapter you get to see them in a strip club.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Took a while, I know. Lots of stuff got in the way but it's here now so here you go, I hope you like it.**

**Rachy Babes: I love her as well, she really is a brilliant example of an ordinary human being. Thank you Darling!  
**

A Change of Face

"Sherlock."

"Yes."

"Why are we here?" John looked around the bright room. The club was shut for business but many of the girls were practising on the poles in sweat pants and gym shoes and the waitresses were busy moving the chairs down off the tables.

"Who the hell are you?" A strong American accent accosted them. John turned to see a blonde woman in a tight fitting suit stalking towards them. Sherlock turned and surveyed the woman her eyebrow raised and she gave him a feral smile. "Hello handsome." Sherlock smiled back, his demeanour becoming so unlike him, so quickly, that it made John's hair stand on end. He whistled and looked her up and down appreciatively.

"Well hello, Mrs..?" She touched her tongue to her top row of teeth in a flirtatious smile.

"Miss," she corrected, "Bradley. Now then sugar, what can I do for you?" She stepped closer and he moved his body to mirror hers.

"I was hoping to speak to you actually."

"Oh really, well lucky for you I have a few minutes to spare." She lowered her tone to a husky whisper and brushed some non-existent fluff from Sherlock's lapel, "Step into my office." Sherlock followed after the woman leaving John to stand, alone, by the bar, watching the women practice. He rocked back on his heels and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"Fantastic." He murmured. This was just what he wanted to spend his afternoon doing. He settled back on one of the bar stools and tried not to look like a pervert.

"Time to go." John jumped at the sound of Sherlock's voice in his ear.

"You need anything else sugar, just let me know." The woman called, her chest pushed out impressively.

"There is one little thing." Sherlock called back, "Do you have any discounts, you know for…special, customers." She licked her lips wolfishly and nodded.

"Free entry for you hunny, anytime." Sherlock smiled and threw his arm around John's shoulders.

"How about ex-servicemen." Her gaze flickered to John for the briefest of moments.

"Sure, army guys who prove they're army guys get twenty percent off their total bill. Does that mean you're coming again?"

"Maybe, I'll see you around." He gave her a lasting smile and pulled John off the seat as he strode from the building.

"What was that? What did we just do?" Sherlock picked his phone from his pocket and began to text.

"Catherine Summers had muscle structure consistent with work as a dancer and a tattoo of a mirror. Google both of those and you come up with this club. Catherine Summers worked here Monday to Saturday, Miss Bradley back there was the anonymous tipster who announced that she was missing."

"So what? She disappeared from a pub in Camden."

"Don't be short sighted John the pub has nothing to do with it." Sherlock threw his hand in the air to hail a cab.

"Of course not." John sighed.

"John?" He turned and noted a woman steadily striding down the road towards him.

"Heather? What are you doing here?" She held up a shopping bag.

"Laura's found a flat to move into with her boyfriend, I had to get her a present."

"If you're heading home we can give you a lift." She smiled gratefully.

"Oh thank you. I'll put in for the fare." John let her into the taxi and shut the door after them. Sherlock surveyed the extra passenger and then turned to look out of the window. "So, you been busy?" John nodded.

"We have a case."

"Oh really."

"A woman, Catherine Summers."

"Exotic dancer?" John quirked his eyebrow, "Well you were in that kind of area, plus," she paused and leant forward, Sherlock glared at her when she put a hand on his shoulder.

"Do you mind?"

"Not really." She reached behind his back and pulled a small black card with hot pink writing from the back of his collar. "Someone has an admirer." Sherlock snatched the card back from her and examined it.

"How did you not realise that was there?" John commented, amused by the discovery. Heather smiled.

"It's pretty easy actually." She pulled a card from her purse and leant closer to Sherlock showing John the trick, "It was an old spy technique in the second world war. But it only works with a stiff collar. You met with the other operative. You kiss him hello then you talk for a few minutes. Before he leaves you fix his collar." She leant forward and straightened an imaginary tie, did up Sherlock's top button and turned down the back of his collar. "Then you kiss him goodbye and walk away. Now check the collar." John felt behind his friend's neck and pulled out the simple white card. "In the war it would have had codes and military positions but it's the same principle."

"How did that Bradley woman know it then?" John asked.

"Maybe she had friends or family in British intelligence."

Sherlock frowned slightly and turned to look out of the window. The car pulled up outside 221B and Heather pulled a 20 pound note from her pocket handing it to the driver and slipping out of the car. "Oh and I picked up some milk this morning, Mrs Hudson said you were out." She was gone before John was able to thank her.

**Please review :)**


	13. Chapter 13

**I've been visiting family in Scotland for the past few days, explaining my absence. However I'm home for this week so unless I forget these chapters should be more punctual.**

**Rachy Babes: She's most likely sitting in her apartment blushing at how confident she came off. I have feeling she's the sort of person that just goes with a situation and then realises what she does afterwards.**

An Intruder

"Well this is," John looked around the tiny, dusky flat and picked up the pile of mail from the floor, "I'm sorry how did you find her flat?"

"According to Miss Bradley she didn't have a car so she most likely lived locally to both her place of work and the pub she disappeared from. Dancers don't make much money so she would live in a low rent area and she most likely didn't have a flatmate otherwise she would have been reported missing by the flat mate rather than the boss. Therefore you look up women by the name of Summers in and around this area. It's here or a flat above an Indian restaurant."

"What's wrong with the restaurant?"

"Did you even look at the photographs John?"

"Yes."

"Well then you understand me perfectly." Sherlock picked out his phone and moved into the bedroom, leaving John in the kitchen- dining area. John could hear him talking to whoever was on the other end of the line but chose not to pay attention and to take a look around instead. The flat was dark, even with the windows open very little light managed to get past the towering buildings surrounding it.

"Charming place she had here." John commented, putting the post down on the table and rifling through it.

"Huh, no bills though, alright for some." Sherlock's head poked out from the bedroom.

"What did you say?"

"No, bills. She must have paid them off already." He strode over to John and snatched the letters from his hand.

"No but it's more than that. No bills, no tax letters, no catalogues…just junk mail."

"And?"

"She was undercover John."

"How the hell do you get that from a pile of junk mail."

"Oh think about it, she's a dancer at a small club with no money for a decent flat, all her furniture is from the same shop with the same amount of ware so she bought it in one big go, the photo's dotted around the flat, not many, just enough to fool the casual onlooker into thinking she'd had a life before dancing. There's nothing personal about this flat, no hand me downs, things passed through her family. It's clinical but dressed to look lived in. add that to the fact that someone taught Miss Bradley that trick with the card that Heather stated was a British intelligence trick and what do you get? Someone else is paying off her bills and tax for her while she concentrates on the job in hand."

"Brilliant, and what was that job." Sherlock was silent and John sighed, "I suppose that's too much to ask." He glanced around the room and then looked over to the bedroom. "Did you check the cupboard under the sink?"

"What for?" John smiled slightly and located the bathroom. Sherlock followed him inside and watched him bend down to open the cupboard. He rifled through various shower gels and make up removers before coming across a small green box. He hummed and opened it, pouring out the contents and taking a small flip notebook from the bottom and handing it to his partner.

"Harry used to keep a couple of extra twenties in the bottom of her tampon box. I had to hide them when she was going through really rough patches." He explained. Sherlock flipped the book open and frowned. "What is it?"

"One word, 'acquired'."

"That's it?"

"That and," He held up the book for John to see, "A chemical formula." John's eyes widened.

"I'm rusty but, that doesn't look good." A noise behind them startled both men and they turned to look at the intruder in the living room.

**Reviews are always much appreciated! :)**


	14. Chapter 14

**I'm really glad you guys are still really positive about this story. Thank you so much for the response so far and I hope you continue to enjoy it and let me know.******

Beth: Thank you! Especially for narrowing down what you like because it's really helpful to know where I'm going right so I can keep it up in my other work. :D Hope you keep enjoying the case!

**Rachy Babes: I'm glad the minor Johnlock is coming out, I know it's important to the books and shows and so it should be to my story. Thanks Darling!**

A Helping Hand

Heather sat down on the floor in front of her sofa, dinner in hand with work spread out at her feet; several 14th century books had turned up in west Lothian and been sent to the museum for cataloguing and restoration. She groaned and let her head fall back onto the sofa, Sherlock and John were making an obscene amount of noise. She could hear Mrs Hudson yelling at them to keep it down. She looked down at the plate of curry on her lap and sighed, leaving it on the coffee table she left her apartment and headed up the stairs. "I want it out of my flat!"

"Oh Mrs Hudson haven't you got some ironing to do."

"Sherlock, you broke into the victims house and stole a devastating virus! Turn it in to the police, don't leave it lying around the flat. Anything could happen!"

"Don't you understand John?" Sherlock shouted, "This is our ticket to finding the killers. This is what they were looking for." Heather moved past Mrs Hudson into the room and jumped as her shoulders became the perching point of a large ginger tom cat. It purred and nuzzled against her face, falling into her arms.

"Um, why have you got a cat?" She asked, looking up at the group. John was eyeing her worriedly and Sherlock's face was a little strained. "What?" she looked down at the cat and noted a small vile of liquid attached to his collar. "Oh dear God. Someone tell me that's perfume." John edged closer.

"Just hold still." John got two feet away and stretched his hand out towards the cat but he obviously didn't care for the intrusion and lashed out with his claws. Heather pulled him back before he fell from her arms. "So, he hates men, that's helpful."

"Mrs Hudson, take the cat from Heather." Sherlock ordered.

"Oh no, I'm not touching that cat with a ten foot pole."

"Mrs Hudson..!"

"Sherlock." Heather snapped, "how about you explain the plan fully before ordering us around like servants."

"I don't treat you like servants."

"No, you don't pay us for it so it's more like slaves. Now tell us what you want."

"If Mrs Hudson takes the animal then you can remove the collar." Heather nodded and stroked the animals head carefully. She wasn't really a cat person but needs must, personally the animals unnerved her slightly, she could never tell what they were thinking. One minute they would snuggle with you on the sofa, the next you had a large painful scratch down your arm.

"It's all right Martha, I'll be quick." Mrs Hudson pulled a face but held out her arms for the cat. Heather unbuckled the collar and slipped it off the cats head handing it over to John who held it at arms-length. Mrs Hudson immediately dropped the cat and pointed to it.

"Get it out of here, it'll scratch away my wallpaper and it'll come out of your rent young man." Heather giggled childishly at the older woman who stormed from the room.

"Well then, I'll leave you and fluffy to find a new home shall I."

"Ahhh! Heather, Heather!" John chased her through the door.

"Yes?" she smiled knowingly, hearing the cat hiss and spit in the men's main room.

"Could you… I mean if it's not much bother…"

"No John, I'm not taking in a dead woman's cat." He looked back at the room and ran his hand through his hair attempting to come up with a plan. "Do you not know anyone who'd take it in? Someone who's more of a cat person then me maybe." He wrinkled his eyes and hummed, thinking through his friends and relatives.

"Take the cat and follow me." Sherlock appeared at the top of the steps and Heather looked back down in the direction of her door. Her food would be getting cold, her work was still lying across the floor. With a sigh she walked back up the steps. The cat had seemingly disappeared so with a groan Heather fell to her knees and began hunting underneath the tables and chairs.

"Here kitty kitty kitty. Come on I have things to be doing other than crawling around my housemates floor." John watched her for a moment before whistling loudly. An answering meow gave away the cat's position, allowing her to pounce on the animal and hoist him into her arms. It pawed at the chopsticks holding her hair in place. "The sooner you're gone the better." She chastised. He seemed unconcerned by the obvious bad feeling towards him and placed his paws on her shoulder to look behind her at John and leave him with a final hiss.

Sherlock had hailed a cab and was waiting inside, impatiently tapping his fingers against his knees. Heather sat opposite him, afraid of the reaction the cat would have if she sat next to him. "I'm interested," she began, "if he hates men and you two couldn't pick him up, how did you get him to Baker Street?"

"In a drawstring bag." He informed her. Her mouth fell a little agape and she looked down at the cat's paws.

"How the hell did you get him into a bag?" Sherlock sighed and drew up the sleeve of his shirt. A long trail of bloody scratches stretched down his arm and she could only guess that the other one would be similar.

"I asked John to shoot it but he wouldn't do it." She chuckled and watched as a hint of a smile crossed his mouth. "The trick with the card, where did you learn it?" Heather petted the cat's head to keep him quiet.

"I didn't become a librarian because I had too you know, I like books and I'm very good at memorising them. Introduce me to a person and ten seconds later I most likely will have forgotten their names. Give me a book and I'll quote it for years afterwards."

"What technique do you use?"

"Erm, none, I just…I don't know, remember it." He shook his head.

"Not good enough, probably why you're so absent minded."

"Pardon?"

"What you need is a technique to help you channel your thoughts and make them easy to remember. Have you ever considered a mind palace." The car stopped and the look of utter confusion was wiped from her face as she looked up at the block of flats. Sherlock jumped out of the car and Heather stumbled out with the cat.

"I don't think we'll be long, would you mind waiting." She asked the cabbie.

"I'll have to keep the time running." She rolled her eyes and paid him, assuring herself that if all else failed there was always public transport, although she was unsure as to how her housemate would take to that idea. She hurried off up into the building, finding him holding the lift for her. They travelled up two floors in silence and then he swept through the double doors before they'd fully opened. She gave the cat an 'I'm as confused as you are' look and headed towards the door he was hammering on.

"Alright, alright I'm coming, must be really important if…Sherlock! Hi!" Another young woman around the same height as Heather stood in the doorway. Her short mousy hair was tied up in a ponytail and she was wearing pink fluffy slippers and her pyjamas.

"Molly, how are you, have you met Heather, can we come in, thanks." He pushed past her into the flat leaving the two women to face each other. Heather shifted her feet nervously and balanced the cat in one arm, holding her hand out to Molly.

"Hi, I'm Heather."

"Molly." They stood in silence for a moment before Molly spoke up. "So you're the new girl… I mean flat mate, sorry."

"S'ok, er yeah I guess. I moved in downstairs, my old place was too big for just one person."

"Oh." They smiled politely. "Do you, do you want to come in?"

"Only if you don't mind."

"No, no, go ahead."

Heather crossed the doorway and found Sherlock pacing in the small living area. "So what can I do for you? Coffee?"

"The cat." Sherlock stated, Molly looked at the large tom and frowned.

"What about it?"

"It's for you." Her eyes grew wide and she glanced between them. "You've been looking for a pet and this is perfect for you. It's well trained, used to living in small flats and seems to respond well to affection."

"How did you know I was looking for a pet?" He waved off the comment and began walking to the door calling back.

"Come on Heather. Oh," he turned in the doorway, "He hates men but I doubt that will be a problem for the foreseeable future." Both women's stunned looks seemed to do little to him and he left the apartment as abruptly has he had arrived. Heather looked at the woman in front of her and sighed.

"I'm sorry that was an awful thing to say, and if you don't want the cat I'll just take him to Battersea it's fine."

"No." Molly replied, "No, he's right, I'll take him." Molly took the cat from Heather's arms and turned her back on the other woman. "He's probably waiting for you, you should go."

"Let him wait, git." Molly turned a little and gave a shy smile. "Besides what's wrong with being single anyway."

"You haven't got a boyfriend…or girlfriend?" She quickly added. Heather laughed and shook her head slowly making her way to the door.

"I'm a nerd with a rubber duck collection, boys used to throw rocks at me. Now they just feel me up and move on to a girl who might let them shag them badly for the night." Molly laughed whole heartedly and Heather smiled. "You know what, we should meet up, have lunch some time. Maybe a girls night or something, better than sitting alone watching black and white movies."

"I'd like that." Heather pulled a pen from her pocket and scribbled down her number on a receipt before handing it to Molly and heading towards the lift.

"Oh, and between you and me, I highly doubt he's ever had a girlfriend anyway." Molly stifled a giggle as Heather slipped through the doors of the lift to join Sherlock. "Did you have to be so mean?" He sighed impatiently, "She's doing you a favour taking in that damn cat and all you do is insult her relationship status. You know women get enough flack for that without you adding your thoughts. Have you any idea how frustrating it is to be asked when you're going to settle down and have a baby? So next time try and keep your mouth shut maybe." He left the lift and glared at her.

"Would you prefer I didn't inform her of the cat's condition and let her bring some unsuspecting boy home who goes to pet the thing and nearly has his arm taken off?"

"No but maybe next time just stick to the facts." Sherlock lifted his arm to hail another cab but it passed him by.

"Her relationship problems are a fact." Another black car started to head towards them.

"Not a pertinent one." She told him. He turned to answer the accusation but instead reached forwards and pulled her behind him.

"Run." The car had not been a cab but they'd been too busy arguing to note the five men sitting inside until they dived out to grab them. Sherlock pushed her in front as he ran but the car swerved into the street, he only just managed to pull her back from being hit by it. The consequence being that the men caught up with them. Metal handcuffs were placed over their wrists and Heather was picked up and dumped unceremoniously into the boot. Sherlock was wrestled in after her and the hood slammed shut above them. The car moved and they were thrown together.

"Get off." She hissed, pushing him off her chest and back to his side of the snug compartment. "What the hell is going on?"

"Well it's a kidnapping."

"Oh really I hadn't noticed. I mean who the hell is kidnapping us? Well, you I get but me? Who the hell wants me? I haven't got that much money, I'm not exactly important so why not just knock me unconscious and take you?"

"Is this how you react to being kidnapped? Analysis?"

"How the hell would I know, I've never been kidnapped before." She hissed back.

"Well it's good just keep it going." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes listening to the sounds of the car and feeling the bumps on the road. Her heart was pounding in her ears but it all felt rather surreal, this can't be a real kidnapping. That stuff only happened in Somalia and war torn countries –or on unrealistic episodes of Eastenders.

"There were five people, faces covered, all black even the shoes, they were wearing boots. Two black men, three white."

"No no, go back to the boots, what did the boots tell you."

"I don't know they were just boots."

"No, think back, what can you remember about them?" She sighed and screwed her eyes up.

"They were laced, shiny, well-kept maybe." He hummed and she followed her instincts, "That's what you mean isn't it. The boots were polished."

"Army men."

"You think they're military."

"I don't just think it. It was obvious."

"How was that obvious?"

"When I examined the x-rays I noted broken foot bones, dislocated shoulder and shattered phalanges. All injuries the British army have been accused of using in torture scandals from the Iraqi war." Heather's response died in her throat as the car rolled to a stop.

"I don't like the sound of this." She mumbled . The boot opened and they were both allowed to catch a glimpse of what seemed to be a building site. Seemingly out of nowhere, hands appeared and pressed damp cloths to their faces. Heather held her breath for as long as she could and struggled when she saw Sherlock's eyes grow cloudy and close, but the lack of oxygen got the better of her and soon she was drifting off too. Like falling asleep, she thought, just without the comfort.

**Like I said, please review, tell me what you like, tell me what you don't, tell me you deepest darkest secrets… **


	15. Chapter 15

**Another chapter and we're nearing the moment you saw at the very beginning in the preface…**

**Bronze Cat: I'm rather fond of Molly myself she really does put up with a lot of crap. I'm sorry to say that this is in fact Molly's last appearance in this particular story but if people like it enough I'll write a second adventure and a girls night will most certainly be included.  
**

**Chironsgirl: I wouldn't worry about seeming weird it's a job I myself would love to have and several other readers have expressed interest in. In fact it's made me realise how much competition I have ;)**

**Haelia: Really? Well I never, it's fate! Actually Heather is my mother's name and Turner is the surname of a character I used to love reading about. But the fact that I picked those two names is still pretty amazing. Thank you, I'm really enjoying the writing of it so it's great to know people are responding so well. Over perfection is a big issue as is the instaromance phenomenon, they're both big problems in almost all the fandoms so they were the big no no's when I was writing. Thank you, thank you, thank you and I hope you continue to enjoy!**

A Difficult Wait

Her head was killing her. That was it, she was never, ever getting kidnapped again. God the pain in her head and the nauseous feeling; she was certain if she opened her mouth, the few mouthfuls of dinner she had actually managed would make a reappearance. "Good you're awake." She opened her eyes and forced her muscles to help lift her head from her chest, urgh, it was so heavy. Sherlock was staring at her intently. He was bound to a wooden chair, ropes around his wrists, neck, middle and legs. She let her head fall forward again and noted the matching ropes around her wrists and legs and yet none around her waist or neck, Sherlock seemed to read her mind. "Obviously they see me as more of a threat then you." Heather's head lolled up and she opened her mouth but all that would come out were quiet mumbles. "The chloroform is still wearing off, you'll be useless for the first few minutes." She frowned at the word useless but let it pass, she was too tired for all of this, maybe she'd just go back to sleep, when she woke up it might all have been some crazy perverted dream. "No!" Sherlock snapped. She felt his knee bash against her own and looked up at him through her eyelashes. For just a second she thought she saw something strange, not panic or caring but…concern. "No, don't fall asleep. The best thing you can do is think, start solving problems in your head or tell me something to take your mind off it. Why do you like rubber ducks?"

"Thought you'd know." She slurred, as if drunk after a long night out.

"Some things can't be deduced." She realised he was probably just pretending to be nice to her but she could feel motor function returning to her hands and decided to humour him.

"I donno," she sighed and thought of the yellow objects, scattered around the fallen detective on her living room floor, "I like the bright colours, the funny patterns, the reaction they get," She smiled, despite their position, "I guess, in the end, they just make me smile." Sherlock's eyes narrowed and the bridge of his nose crinkled, "What?" Heather asked, rotating her head to test the muscles.

"You're using them as a tool to hide your underlying issues from yourself." He stated. She glared at him and tapped her feet, teasing them into a smooth movement.

"Please stop it Sherlock."

"Stop what?"

"Just stop trying to push me away. Congratulations you've discovered I'm human and I have emotions and I have problems but I know that and I really don't care if you do too, so stop testing me to see if I'll run because what with these ropes and everything I think I may struggle." He turned up his nose at her and looked away. They settled into a rather awkward silence and sat still as statues.

At least half an hour passed. Neither had much at all to say to the other. Sherlock refused to look at Heather, too busy trying to ignore her presence and she had resigned herself to examining the ceiling. The dank basement like room was unoriginal and dull to look at, nothing stood it apart from every other cellar she'd ever been in. Dark, musky, a bit dirty and probably rarely used, in fact she was sure she'd seen it before in some badly scripted police show when she was off work sick.

The lock on the door snapped. Sherlock looked over interested as to who would walk in, Heather jumped at least three inches, enough to move the chair slightly, they'd been silent for so long.

The man who walked through looked ordinary enough, dark skinned, short hair, strong build, jeans, t-shirt, jacket, nothing of interest…Heather had a sudden thought and glanced over at Sherlock, his eyes were roaming the other man's frame. Of course he would be able to work out every crevice of the man's sordid past from the stains on his damn shirt. For a moment she was jealous of this detective skill, she hated this helpless feeling of not knowing anything about her kidnappers.

"I'll make this quick and easy for the pair of you to understand." He told them, his voice was deep but rich, not heavily accented but there was definitely a trace of something, not that she had the slightest clue what. "You have exactly two hours to tell us where the virus is," he paused for effect, looking between them, "Or we start breaking bones." He bent to the floor and slipped off Heather's shoe, tracing the sole of her foot with his finger, "starting right here." She trembled and bit her lip, hard, to stop a whimper escaping. He got up and walked out of the room and the door was bolted behind him.

Heather immediately clenched her toes and took a shaky breath, noting the taste of blood in her mouth where she had bitten her lip too hard.

"Stop it." Sherlock snapped.

"Stop what?" she asked, her voice was higher than she'd expected and it cracked mid-sentence. She looked away, embarrassed at being so obviously terrified in front of the detective who seemed so very calm.

"Panicking, it stops me thinking."

"Oh I'm sorry, I thought I was just being threatened by a big scary man in an underground bunker in the middle of fucking no-where!" she yelled.

"Shut up!" he shouted back. She recoiled and bowed her head, her eyes were itching and her upper body was burning in embarrassment. She didn't want him to see her cry, not the great consulting detective, not her housemate. She couldn't help it though, she was scared and he was shouting and she just wanted to go home, back to Laura, back to her old flat, back to her old boring life at the library. A few wet tears spilled from her eyes mixing with her mascara and making them sting even more. She closed her eyes and hoped the fall of her hair would cover her emotions from him.

Sherlock wasn't sure what to do. It was obvious she was crying, it didn't take any skill to work that out but how he was supposed to react was a complete mystery. He couldn't touch her, and wouldn't really want to even if he could and he had no words that resembled comfort, besides that would ruin his plan of attempting to scare her off like John wanted. Well, he'd never specifically said scare her but he'd wanted her kept out of the fray. Sherlock looked up at her and sharply looked away, bit too late for that now though. His conscience was eating away at the darkest corner of his brain, reminding him that she was quite clearly terrified anyway so there wasn't much need to add more stress. This didn't, however, solve the problem of what he was supposed to do. He studied her for a moment then decided on a plan. He closed his eyes and pretended he hadn't noticed.

**Oh dear Sherlock, kind of messed that up didn't you. Anyway, reviews are much appreciated as always!**


	16. Chapter 16

**I think you'll recognise a little of this and I know it's short but it's important :D**

**Rachy Babes: I think he's actually being deceptively human in a way, trying to keep her calm the only way he knows how. I don't know about the kidnapping, there are moments I think everyone wonders what it would be like. Answer: not good. Oh there's a way out alright, not what you'd expect though.**

Out of Time

Heather realised the time was slipping steadily away from them. She could see her watch on her wrist and they didn't have long. She wasn't an idiot, she knew she was going to be in serious pain if they didn't come up with something soon and there was no romanticizing the situation. If it came down to it there was no one to storm in and save them. They were in serious trouble, and they were fighting. She sighed and looked up at the detective across from her, his eyes were closed, his head tilted back as his brain whirred inside it's bone enclosure. "Sherlock." He sniffed but refused to open his eyes, "What do we say?" He opened his eyes almost lazily and rolled them down to look at her.

"Nothing."

"But, they're going to hurt us."

"And if we tell them they'll hurt whoever has it." She took in a sharp gush of breath.

"John."

"So we say nothing." For a moment she nodded but she was unsure of herself and hung her head.

"I'm not a soldier Sherlock, I've never been tortured. I…I don't know how I'll react." He rolled his eyes and looked at the door. "Oh, Frailty thy name is woman." Heather quoted, following his gaze to the door.

"Women aren't frail Heather." He commented, never once looking at her, "certain individuals may be, but every mind has potential for something." She didn't know how to take the statement. Was it a slight in her direction or an encouragement of some sort? She decided, for her own sanity, to take it as encouragement and looked down at the knots on her ropes. A loud clanging noise interrupted her thoughts and she glanced fearfully at Sherlock, his sharp eyes caught hers at the same moment as they listened to the noise. She jumped at the sound as it echoed down to them once again. A shaky breath past through her lips and she began to tug at the rope bindings around her wrists. Sherlock looked down at her hands and a small smile tugged at his lips. "That won't work." He told her, his voice low and little fragmented. Her eyes hardened and she gave another defiant tug. He seemed almost relaxed compared to the tense feelings in the pit of her stomach.

"At least I'm trying." He rolled his eyes.

"Oh yes, that's the main objective here." He looked to the sides of the room scanning them carefully, "If you want to escape, escape, 'trying' is a waste of effort."

"Then think of a plan."

"I have."

"Then let me in on it." He remained silent. "You don't really have a plan do you." He glared at her.

"Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you expect something of me." She purposefully looked away from him. "There is absolutely nothing I can do for you in this situation so either stop looking at me like that or, even better, just stop looking at me." They were silent for a few minutes until a muffled tap tapping of shoes on the concrete floor in the outside corridor interrupted the eerie quiet.

"Sherlock."

"What?" he snapped.

"Could you just, tell me you have a plan?" Her voice betrayed a hint of the panic, rising in her chest as the footsteps grew nearer.

"No." he told her quietly, more gentle than before.

"Why not?"

"Because I promised John." The lock on the heavy metal door snapped and a stream of bright white light blinded them as they cowered from the figure in the opening.

"Alright, who the hell are you?" the figure hissed. Heather was shaking as the woman glared down at them.

"Catherine Summers." Sherlock announced, ignoring the question and smiling knowingly at the woman.

**So go on…who expected that?**


	17. Chapter 17

**Don't worry if you're confused, the truth is that when I wrote it I confused myself. **

A Way Out

"Catherine Summers." Sherlock announced, ignoring the question and smiling knowingly at the woman. "Or not of course, operatives are rarely stupid enough to give their real names." Catherine's poker face stayed in place as she knelt down at their side and looked up at him.

"You're in the life?" Sherlock scoffed.

"I hardly think so." She scowled.

"Who's this then? Girlfriend?" Even Heather drew back in mild disgust at this, she looked up at him and wildly shook her head.

"House mate." She murmured, still in shock, "Wrong place, wrong time."

"Right well, as lovely as this chat's been I think I should get you two outta here eh?" She took out a knife from her pocket and Heather's courage slowly returned to her.

"So…you're not dead." She muttered. Sherlock sighed.

"Obviously." Heather kicked him with her, now released, foot. He glared at her a little surprised at the assault.

"No, not obviously. How?"

"Later." He ordered as the rope around Heather's hands fell to the floor and she rubbed her wrists tenderly. Catherine made quick work of their bindings and Sherlock leaped for the door as his own ropes pooled to the ground. "I take it you have some idea of the way out." Catherine looked at him carefully but then nodded.

"If I'm getting you two out of here then listen up. You stay quiet, you do what I say and if you get caught I am leaving you behind you got that. My mission is more important than the lives of one amateur detective and his kid housemate."

"He's not an amateur." Heather snapped. Sherlock looked down at her utterly confused, "I'm not a kid and you're not very nice."

Catherine gave her an odd look, as though she was unsure of what to make of this strange little creature placed in her care. With shake of her head she walked out of the doors and Heather followed, her hands fiddling around her stomach with nothing to do. Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked around the compound they were creeping through. Where were they? They couldn't be too far away from London. Surrey maybe? They had enough land for a hidden underground bunker.

Catherine stopped at a turning and peered around the corner.

"Okay, there's a camera at the other end of this corridor. When I say go you have exactly five seconds to get from here to the space underneath it then you have a further five seconds to get down that corridor and out of the door at the end. If the camera sees you, the alarm goes off and I'm leaving you, if someone's in the other corridor then they'll see you and I'm leaving you, If the door is locked then I'm leaving you and if there are guards outside that see you I'm leaving you. If you make it, which is very unlikely, then there are cars right outside the door. Don't stop. Keep driving, follow the road and it will take you straight to the motorway. Now get the hell out of here."

"Well that's comforting." Heather whimpered. Sherlock peered around the corner and then suddenly took off. She waited dead still until she heard him slam into the wall underneath the camera at the other end.

"Are you coming?" She heard him hiss. Stealthily she peered around the corner, snapping back at the sight of the camera. Taking a deep breath she looked around the wall again and watched it scan away from her. With a sudden burst of energy she pelted down towards the detective at the other end and barrelled into the wall next to him. He flung out his arm and held her back against the wall as the camera shifted then nodded towards the door they were aiming for. She followed his sprint towards the exit and almost laughed when it opened easily. Sherlock slammed it shut and turned to look for a car. "That was…" he frowned, "It was too easy." An alarm inside the building could be heard and Heather's eye grew wide, "This way." Sherlock ordered. She followed him at a run as he headed for a land rover parked by an area marked 'Danger: Electricity'. The door behind them burst open and she glanced back to see several large healthy men gaining on her. With her eyes on the pursuers she missed her footing and fell, crashing to the ground. For one horrifying second she saw the future. The car driving off, someone tying her back to the chair, the terrifying man with his iron pipe and her soft, pliable foot in his hand.

Strong arms pulled her to her feet and towards the car and she smashed into the door, fumbling with the handle and pulling herself inside. Sherlock sped around to the other side and started the engine.

"Get down." He yelled as he span the car around. She heard tiny pings and cracks as metal pellets hit the framework of the car. Her hands covered her head and she almost curled right down into the leg room. The noise stopped and was replaced with the eerie growl of the engine.

Heather looked up a little, her head still ducked, and peered through the curtain her hair had formed. Sherlock was staring at the road ahead, his face trained in a look of pure concentration and his left arm totally limp.

"Are, you alright?" He seemed to look between her and the road, weighing up his choices.

"Something grazed my arm." He commented, as though speaking about the weather. She frowned and leaped up grabbing his arm, he swerved the car and jerked away from her.

"Let me look." He glared at her and when she made to touch him again he jerked away again, "let me look you big baby. I want to help."

"You can help by not touching me. You're not my doctor."

"No, but my grandfather was chief of surgery at the Royal Infirmary in Edinburgh and I watch a lot of TV so you either let me help or you die of blood loss and never get home in time to show everyone how clever you are."

"If I let you look at my arm will you shut up?"

"Yes."

"Fine, do what you want."

**So… They're out, but what the hell is going on…**


	18. Chapter 18

**There are only two chapters left after this one, however I'm going on holiday on Saturday so I'll be putting them up consecutively as opposed to every other day as I've been trying to do.**

**Also can everyone make sure they read the last chapter before starting this one as it had some trouble going up and therefore some people didn't get it, but can now.**

A Welcome Return

"Oh thank God." John gasped, he stood in the doorway staring at the two, "Where the hell have you been?" Heather waved a hand and walked towards her flat.

"I'm going to bed." John watched her walk away and Sherlock walked straight past him.

"Did you hand over the virus?"

"Mycroft came over for it." Sherlock stopped halfway up the stairs.

"Mycroft?"

"Yeah he, came by to pick it up. Told me it belonged to the government now."

"And you gave it to him."

"Oh of course not." Sherlock walked back down the steps until he was face to face with John and looked at him quizzically. "I dropped it into the bio hazard container down at St Barts they incinerated it yesterday." Sherlock smiled brightly and laughed, wincing at the pain in his arm.

"What the hell have you done?"

"I took a trip to a world war two bunker with Heather. I doubt she'll be taking part in any more cases after this."

John followed Sherlock up to the living room and watched him peel his jacket off, he saw the ripped arm of the shirt and the makeshift bandage and frowned. Grabbing the first aid kit from the kitchen he headed over to where Sherlock had sat by his laptop and proceeded to check the wound. Sherlock flinched away a little but then looked over at John uninterested and turned back to his laptop.

"My God you've been shot!"

"Really, I hadn't noticed." The detective mumbled waiting for the start screen to disappear.

"How the hell did you get shot?"

"Irrelevant. Can I use your phone?"

John dropped his phone on the table and ran up to his room to collect his more advanced medical supplies. He put the bag down and proceeded to fix up the gash on Sherlock's arm.

"Are you alright?" He asked after ten minutes of nothing but silence.

"hmm, what? Oh, yes, of course. Why?"

"And Heather?"

"Fine. Not shot, just a nuisance." John frowned at the description but let it slide.

"You might want some pain killers."

"It's fine."

"Fine, fine, just don't come moaning to me when your arm feels like it's going to fall off." He mumbled as he packed up his bag and put the dirty bandages in the bin. "Right, I'm going to bed, you need to call Mycroft. He was asking about you."

"Don't be ridiculous John, you think he didn't know I was here the moment I drove into the congestion zone." John sighed and nodded, heading for the stairs.

"Don't be up too late." He called back, though he knew it would fall on deaf ears.

**I'm guessing the lack of reviews recently has been due to holidays and such but please, it's so easy to do now the site has updated the 'comment' system, so any sign of life out there would really be much appreciated. **


	19. Chapter 19

**A new day and a new chapter bringing with it one of the many problems with being involved in Sherlock Holmes' life. Nightmares.**

**chironsgirl  
Molly and Heather need a hen night. Trashing Sherlock.**

**Anonymous: Thank you, it gives lots of encouragement to see people are enjoying what I'm writing and it also affects my decision whether or not to do a sequel so it makes me feel loads better about everything :D**

**Anonymous 'Me gusta' : I'll take that as a good thing, thank you :D**

**Anonymous 'Brilliant': Nawwwwww, shucks, thank you so much.**

Repercussions

It was late. Or was it early. The birds were silent, but so were the cars and the people who normally walked past 221B. Heather had heard the police turn up earlier. Heard the row Sherlock had had and the final decision to post men outside the house. She'd not gone to bed like she'd planned, well, she had but very quickly gotten up and went for the sofa. She'd tried to read but was distracted, tried to watch the television but she didn't like not being able to hear if anything happened. Finally she'd curled up on the floor, by the fireplace where the boxes were still piled up. She'd grabbed the stuffed dog from her childhood and held it close to her, the lights casting a bright hue over the room.

Now it was late and she'd been sat there for too long. Her tail bone was complaining with short burst of sharp pain and her eyes were sliding shut every five seconds only to snap open again. The dog was gripped tightly in her hands as she stumbled to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. She looked pale, tired, burnt out and she had work tomorrow. How was she supposed to explain…

The thought was cut off by a shadow moving behind her and she leaped out of her skin. It quickly became apparent it was just a flicker of the light in the room next to her and she groaned, dropping to her knees and promptly throwing up what little food she'd managed to put past her lips.

This wasn't going to work.

She had to give in.

With a moan of defeat she swallowed a few handfuls of water from the tap and then grabbed the blanket from the back of her sofa clutching it around her as she headed for the door. The stairs creaked when met by her weight and the door swung open with a slight squeak. Her eyes widened at the figure sitting in the middle of the room but he sighed and didn't turn to see her.

"Sit on the sofa and be quiet." Sherlock snapped. Heather didn't bother sending a retort back, she was actually grateful for the comment, it meant not having to explain herself. It meant he knew that she was scared, that she couldn't sleep, that what had happened had properly shaken her. It meant, that that was alright.

Carefully she lay down on the sofa and pulled the blanket over her cold feet, the toy dog clutched to her chest.

When John woke and dragged himself down for some tea he found Heather asleep, curled up on the sofa still and Sherlock sat in his chair staring into space. Both totally at peace. He smiled to himself and went back up to bed. Never mind if they were late for work. He'd just write a couple of sick notes.

**Look at that handy little comment box down there. I think he's feeling lonely, maybe if you used him he'd feel more useful. **


	20. Chapter 20

**Well this is the 'explain it all' chapter and, sadly, the last. However, if you so wish I have got a few notes that could turn into a sequal…well, do you want?**

**Bronze Cat: I'm sure she'll be fine eventually. I just had to show that as much as we read about kidnapping and threatening, so many stories ignore the psychological effect that must have on the ordinary victims. But she's tough, I have high hopes. This is indeed the final chapter but as I said I'm willing to do a sequal if that's what you guys would like.**

**A Puzzling End**

"I was suspicious when Lestrade first gave us the case notes," Sherlock commented, waving the violin bow around like a baton. "I knew I was correct in my assumption as soon as I saw the apartment." He told them. "If they'd known that Catherine Summers was the traitor then surely they would have searched her apartment, but it was in pristine condition. So they must have got their hands on someone else, someone from the looking glass who may have overheard something, and assumed it was her."

"Why The Looking Glass?" Heather asked.

"Army members get a sizable discount." John told her, remembering the conversation inside the club and moving onto his own question, "But then, why were the police so sure it was Miss Summers."

"Because she was the only one reported missing." Sherlock explained. John frowned and settled back in his chair.

"What do you mean?"

"Miss Summers obviously heard about the abduction and went deeper undercover to cover her tracks, she knew they'd worked out where the mole worked so she backed off which is why she was reported missing by Miss Bradley. What she didn't realise was that one of her other girls was now missing too. A girl who, later that evening, called to resign. Apparently this girl was crying, Miss Bradley could hear male voices in the background. She assumed family members had seen the girl and were forcing her to quit when really our army friends were threatening her, setting up a reason for the world not to look for her." John was nodding interested but slightly flummoxed.

"And, when did you find all that out?"

"When we got to the apartment, I phoned Miss Bradley, aggravating woman but useful none the less."

"So the pictures of the pub." Heather questioned quietly.

"Show Catherine Summers wandering off of her own accord. She wanted to disappear."

"What about the men?" John gave her a comforting smile.

"Mycroft called this morning. With the evidence Sherlock gave them they were able to raid the bunker. Everyone on site was taken in for questioning anyone who escaped is on the run. Besides there's no more virus so no more reason."

"What would they do with it anyway? What was the point?" Sherlock ignored them and looked down at the pink phone in his hand. He scrolled through the texts to the most recent and opened it again.

_One to you_

Heather sighed and looked down at the, now cold, tea in her hands. She put it back down on the table and kicked off her shoes, tucking her feet under her and pulling the warm purple jumper further around herself. No one had mentioned her sleeping quarters from the night before but John could see the hints of fear still there. She was reserved, a little jittery and gravitated towards the sofa. He glanced over at Sherlock who was now running resin down the horse hair on his bow and seemed to have not a care in the world. Neither had really spoken to each other since being back. One or two sentences at best and even that was generally a short sentence. It felt more calm than tense though. The silence wasn't a lack of things to say, it was knowing that they didn't need to be said.

Sherlock and Heather were simply comfortable sharing their silence.

**Well, I hope you enjoyed the story and I hope it lived up to your expectations. Thank you for reading, reviewing, putting me in your favourites and putting me on alert, it's lovely to have so much support.**

**Like I said, let me know if you want a sequel :) **


	21. Authors Note

Hello everyone, just a quite not to say the next story in this (possible) series, is up.

It's called 'The Surrey Intrusion' and you can either look for it on the Sherlock page, search for it, or go onto my page and skim down to the bottom where all of my stories are.

Hope you enjoyed this one enough to give it a shot.

Thank you :)

Alexandra xx


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